Tempered Rain
by Ilada'Jefiv
Summary: Trapped in a Gondorian inn by an afternoon storm, Aragorn discusses love and rain with a golden-eyed stranger. Oneshot.


**A/N: **A crossover I wrote for the Teitho Contest: Strange Encounters.

**Summary:** Trapped in a Gondorian inn by an afternoon storm, Aragorn discusses love and rain with a golden-eyed stranger.

**Disclaimer: **The characters and places featured in this short story belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis.

**Tempered Rain**

With a bone-rumbling crack, lightening spread its silver web across the afternoon sky. Aragorn hastily shut the door behind him as he stepped into the Gondorian inn. The wind and rain struck the building with a roar. The rafters creaked. The conversations around the common room barely paused.

The odor of smoke and greasy meals choked Aragorn after the rain-fresh air. Damp boots squishing against the dirty floorboards, he moved forward. Weaving between other patrons, he ran his searching gaze over the room for an empty table.

A stranger sat alone at a splintery wooden table. The corners of the noisy room wove shadows over him, yet he stood out all the same. Time chiseled at his well-built features. Scruffy blond hair, golden-brown as sun-embraced wheat, hung loose and brushed his shoulders. Two untouched cups sat before him.

The stranger looked up – his eyes the color of tempered gold – and caught Aragorn's gaze. The stranger smiled and his face grew young. Wordlessly, he gestured at the chair across from his own.

Stepping over, Aragorn pulled back the chair and sat. The spindly chair wheezed under his weight. Pushing back the hood of his weather-tattered leather cloak and freeing his damp curls, Aragorn nodded a silent greeting.

The man pushed him one of the russet mugs.

It was cinnamon ale; the cup steamed under Aragorn's fingers. He drank. Warmth slid through him and washed out the chill which had settled in his marrow. With a contented sigh, Aragorn set the mug back down on the table. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched out his long legs. His bones popped softly.

The other man said nothing, hands – powerful and scarred – wrapped loosely around his mug of water. His ragged brown leather and coarse ebony cloth outfit matched Aragorn's for mud sprays and mended tears. He carried no visible weapons.

"Wanderer?" Aragorn asked.

The man met his slate-blue gaze with a quiet smile. "I suppose you could say that." His deep voice welled with wisdom. "You wander as well."

Aragorn's breath hitched at the gentle kindness in those ancient eyes. He looked down at his cup. "Yes, in a way."

The man tipped his cup slightly on its edge and tilted it in endless circles. "I am searching for my children. What are you wandering for?"

Aragorn took a sip of ale to hide his indecision. "I am not certain," he said at last. "For any purpose other than the destiny assigned to me…. For something to make me worth the devotion of my love." He did not mean to say that. But he felt better for speaking it.

The man's gaze softened. "Destiny is a fickle thing. And you can never be worth the love of another. If someone loves you, they will do so regardless of merit or strength. Love is grace, and grace is love."

"She will have to sacrifice so much for me, endure so many hardships," Aragorn whispered, unable to hold the gaze. "I feel I must do something for her. But I could never repay her. Still, I feel I have to try."

The man's eyes left Aragorn and settled on the shuttered window. The rain marched a rhythm on the wood. Thunder murmured outside. "Love is like the rain," he said. "It is a constant in life. It brings color and creates life. You do not thank it, yet it comes again and again. Without it, life is stale and dead. Some try to avoid it because of the brief trials it brings. Sometimes it causes sacrifices to be made. Yet out of each trouble springs fresh newness of life. _Hope _comes."

Aragorn started. Their eyes met.

"My children," the man continued, fire-golden gaze misting with sorrow, "do not understand this. They believe the pain is not worth the reward. Still, I love them. I wait for them to return to me."

Aragorn swallowed. "But… if it means to save my love from suffering, can I not shut myself away and hide from the rain?"

"The rain will forever beat upon your windows," the man said. "And the purpose of the rain will never be fulfilled in your life." He leaned forward in his chair, eyes serious. "If you deny love to avoid pain, only more pain will be added to it." His face fell into memory. "Love is grace, and love is sacrifice, and all three are tempered by pain."

The man's gaze sharpened. He leaned back in his chair.

Aragorn released a deep breath.

"Thank you for sharing my table, fellow wanderer," the man said. The intensity was hidden behind the gentleness once more. "The storm has broken, and I must continue on my way. I wish you success in finding what you seek. I hope to meet you again someday – across the sea." The chair screeched as the man pushed it back. He stood, nodded a farewell, and started for the door.

"Wait," Aragorn called after him.

The man turned back to face him.

Aragorn fumbled briefly, uncertain how to express what he wished to say. "Thank you," he said at last. "Your words touch me closely. I am called many things, but you may call me Estel. What is your name?"

"I also have many names," the man said. He smiled, gently, kindly. "You may call me Aslan."

Aragorn's ears caught the thunder-roar of a lion. His eyes snared a flash of sun-blessed mane.

He blinked.

The man was gone.

--End--

**A/N:** Hope you liked! Please review! -Ila


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